Promises to Keep
by Willow Edmond
Summary: Over ten years ago, Dean made a stupid choice that cost Cinnamon something precious. Older and wiser now, Dean has decided to do what needs to be done to right the wrong. He can't change the past, but maybe, just maybe, he can fix the future for both of them. (This is part of the Cinnamon Girl Saga, Chasing the Moonlight / Dreamer of Pictures / Run in the Night / Between the Lines.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

_Italics mean flashback._

* * *

**Promises Past and Present  
**_Part One_

"Okay," Cinnamon said as she walked into the living room, her jacket slung over her shoulder. "You're all set, right?" She was preparing to go out and do some shopping, and Dean had promised to stay and be there when Neil got home from school.

Dean looked up from the couch where he was watching TV. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. When he realized she was actually in the room, not still in the hall, he quickly hid the object he had been holding around his back.

"What's that?" Cinnamon asked, looking instantly suspicious.

"Nothing." Dean attempted to push the object further out of sight and look completely innocent, and failed at both. Cinnamon leaned over and started reaching between his arm and the sofa. "Woman, if you keep trying to get my shirt off me, you'll never get out of the house," he growled, grabbing her and pulling her onto his lap.

"I wasn't trying to get your shirt off," Cinnamon said, snuggling up and wrapping her other arm around him. "And if I was, face it, your shirt would be off, you're pretty easy."

"Bull," he said, shaking his head, and smirking. "You don't have that much power over me."

"Really?" She pulled her arm from around him, holding the object he had been hiding. "Well, what do we have here?" She held up the bright yellow plastic Nerf gun.

"How did _that_ get there?" Dean asked, trying to look as if he had never seen the gun in his life, even though it was the first Nerf gun he had ever owned, the Maverick Seth had given him.

"Were you watching the network and shooting Seth again?" Her expression was serious, but there was a glitter in her eyes that indicated she might be more amused than upset at the situation.

"Maybe," Dean said, looking about the room as a child who was being questioned by a parent might. "Or, maybe I was shooting Hunter, instead."

Cinnamon shook her head. "Just remember, you break the TV, you buy a new one," She kissed him, and then rose from his lap.

"Do you have to go right this minute?" he asked, his gaze running up and down her body.

She nodded. "You know and I know, if I don't go now, we'll end up in the bedroom and by the time we're done with that, Neil will be home. Besides, don't you have a show to do?"

"It can wait." In an effort to keep his name on the minds of the fans, Roman had suggested that maybe Dean could do some promos to be shown on WWE's You Tube channel. It started out as Dean with a computer, talking about whatever the hell he wanted. Within a couple weeks, those simple videos had gone viral, as Dean cheerfully told the world exactly what he thought about everything from the proper way to tie your shoes, to what toppings were good for pizza, and which ones were stupid. For someone who hated technology, Dean was a natural internet star. The WWE wasn't stupid. By the middle of the third week of these simple You Tube videos, they had sent out some easy to operate, but very advanced recording equipment. He and Neil had set it up in the spare bedroom and at least twice a week, often more, he would sit down and just start talking. He'd send what he shot to the media guys and they'd edit it. Sometimes it would be on You Tube, sometimes they put bits of it on Raw and Smackdown, sometimes they edited it into 15 minute segments that they put on the network. The fans loved it, the WWE loved it, and even though he might be hard pressed to admit it, Dean loved it too. It wasn't as good as wrestling, but it was a lot of fun. "I want to do one after Smackdown tonight." Every Friday or Saturday, he usually did one offering his opinions on the shows of that week. His remarks were often biting, sarcastic, and funny as hell. He found he had a gift for being able to poke fun of wrestling and to get others to laugh with him.

"Well, still, I have to go, I don't want to be home too late." She picked her coat up from where it had fallen on to the floor and slipped her arms into it. "There's cookies in the jar for you and Neil to have when he gets home, try not to eat too many and don't let Neil eat too many either." She grabbed her leather backpack, which doubled as her purse, and slung it over her shoulders.

"I won't," he said, getting to his feet and walking her to the door. "Drive safe, okay?"

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. When they broke apart, she let the smile overtake her face again. "I will," she promised. "Don't worry, I'm just going to the mall."

"I can't help but worry," he admitted. "It's the Christmas season and everyone is driving like an idiot."

"I'll keep that in mind." She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and left the house.

Dean closed the door behind her and turned around. Going over to the sofa, he grabbed the remotes, shut down the TV and headed down the hall to the master bedroom. Christmas was coming faster than he thought and he knew he had to get Cinnamon something, he just wasn't sure, what. Neil was easy; he had flown to Vegas for three days and brought back a bunch of WWE merchandise, including a couple of prototype action figures of himself. They were always sending Dean this stuff, and normally, Dean, not being too into having an overabundance of "stuff" would give it to friends or donate it to the Children's hospital. But this year, he would give it to his son. Between that and the things Cinnamon would buy him (he had given Cinnamon a chunk of money to help with the gift buying) Neil was going to have an excellent Christmas. But he wanted to get something for Cinnamon, too.

He looked around her bedroom for inspiration, knowing that of all the rooms in the house, this was the one that designed to be the most "her." It was homy, comfortable, and Dean found that he slept better here than anywhere else, including his place in Vegas.

He looked in her closet first, seeing if there was something she didn't have and needed, although he wasn't sure if he'd know if something was missing or not. He saw her shoe rack on the floor and smiled. Cinnamon owned eight pairs of shoes. Five of them were plain white Keds. The other three were a pair of flats, a pair of sandals and a pair of boots. Unlike most women, Cinnamon was not a shoe fanatic. _So, I guess a gift certificate to DSW, is not a good idea._ Everything else in her closet seemed normal, and he soon realized this was a stupid idea anyway. If he could even tell if she had something missing from her wardrobe, chances are it was because she didn't want it in the first place.

So, what else? He planned on getting a new TV for the living room, but he figured that was an "Everyone" gift, so that wouldn't do. He knew she was complaining about the vacuum cleaner being on its last legs but when he spoke to Roman last night on the phone and asked his opinion on if he should get her a new vacuum cleaner for Christmas, Roman had laughed for a good three minutes straight and then said, "Sure, if you want to sleep on the couch for the rest of your visit." So, he figured he'd pick up a vacuum cleaner for her one of these days and just give it to her.

He spied her jewelry box on top of her dresser and grabbed that. Cinnamon didn't wear much jewelry, she hadn't when he knew her before, she didn't now. But maybe looking at the few pieces she had would give him an idea. Didn't all women want jewelry as a gift? He took the box, sat down on the bed and opened it.

There seemed to be a great deal of things in there, bright colors, odd materials and he thought for a moment Cinnamon might have the worst taste in jewelry he'd ever seen, until he realized these were things Neil had made for her, probably in nursery school and kindergarten. Macaroni necklaces, bits of braided yarn with buttons and various other outlandish and colorful things decorating them. Dean could imagine that she had worn each piece as proudly as another woman might have worn prized jewels, until Neil probably got old enough to be embarrassed by them. Then she had tucked them away into the box as if they were still precious treasures. That was the type of girl Cinnamon was, effort meant as much if not more to her than appearance. He could buy her a ten carat diamond at the finest jewelry store, but if he had done it as a last minute after thought and she knew it? She would never love it.

There were a few other pieces of jewelery, some that seemed to be nothing more than cheap costume jewelry, probably bought to wear for a particular occasion and then rarely, if ever worn again. There were a couple nicer looking pieces, one a tiny necklace with a tiny gold heart on it, that he suspected was hers as a child. The other a pearl necklace that might have belonged to her mother or her grandmother.

Towards the back of the box was a small box that he reached for. As he pulled it out to examine it, he saw the name of the jewelry store on it and almost dropped it. He knew the box, he knew before opening it, what the ring inside would look like. He knew because he had given it to her, ten years ago.

He held the small box in his hand, and put the jewelry box aside. He wanted to open it, wanted to see the ring inside, but then again, he didn't. Part of him wanted to put the ring in his pocket and the next time he was out alone, throw it away. He had given her the ring and when he had, she had cried and worn it all the time. She probably only took it off when they broke up. She had loved that ring, he had hated it. To her, it represented that he cared, to him it represented that at that point in his life, he had been a failure, at least when it came to her. He wasn't surprised he had blanked out the ring once they separated, no one like to be reminded that they could and had failed.

* * *

_He and Cinnamon were almost always broke. Normally, this didn't bother them too much, they were young, in love, and had a lot of energy. Who needed a lot of money when they could spend their time going to parties, having sex, walking her dog, watching wrestling, or, even better, going to wrestling, where she could cheer him on? And it wasn't like they needed a ton of money to get by. She had her scholarship and her part time job, he had his wrestling and whatever crappy weekday job he could grab. Sure, he was constantly losing jobs, because he would refuse to work if it interfered with wrestling, but that was okay, it was part of the sacrifice. Both of them were sure the day was coming sooner, rather than later, where he would break into the big time. And if it didn't happen as soon as they wanted, Cinnamon would graduate from college in four years and she was sure she'd get a good enough job that they could keep a roof over their heads and the lights turned on, so he wouldn't even have to worry about a job, unless he wanted to. He could devote himself full time to wrestling, both doing it and training himself to get better at it. Dean had a girlfriend who was as dedicated to his career as he was, and that was pretty great. _

_The only really hard times were when Unexpected Things came up, like cars breaking down or Rocky needing vet care, or an unexpected medical expense. Those were a pain, but they dealt with them. Usually Cinnamon could get a few extra hours at the coffee shop where she worked and she did pretty well there. She was a bright, sunny girl on the job and the customers liked her. Or, he'd pick up some extra work. _

_Then, he got a cut on his arm and everything went to hell._

_At first it wasn't a big deal. He wasn't even sure how he did it, it just seemed that one Sunday morning, he woke up with a cut on his arm. He had spent the night at Cinnamon's and he was up before her, wanting to go for a run. He went into the bathroom, put a large band aid on the injury, and went out running. _

_A few days later, he noticed it was getting red, and decided to use some antibacterial ointment. It also didn't seem to be healing very well, but he wasn't concerned, he guessed it was deeper than he originally thought and didn't deep cuts take longer?_

_By the end of a week, Cinnamon started asking why he always had it covered. He tried to blow it off, thinking it was no big deal, but she kept pestering him and finally by the end of the second week, he showed her and she was not happy. By this point, the entire area was puffy and red with tiny red lines running out from the wound, so it almost looked like a mutant spider. The area felt hot to the touch too. She insisted he soak his arm in hot water, which he did, then she put a whole lot of antibiotic ointment on it and bandaged it again. She told him that she wanted him to put a hot compress on the arm at least a few times a day. He told her he would, but he constantly forgot. But, he wasn't worried, he showered almost every day, and on those few days he couldn't, he did a full body sink bath. His arm was clean, he would be fine._

_Except the cut just was not healing and instead was getting worse. He started wearing long sleeved shirts and distracting Cinnamon every time she asked about it. "It's doing great, god you look beautiful!" was a good one. Sure, the arm wasn't getting any better, but he was getting more sex. She didn't question that when he took off his shirt, he still wore the bandage, he made sure she had other things on her mind when his shirt came off._

_Then he just started to feel bad. Not just the arm, but his whole body felt achy and he felt hot. Not all the time, but a lot of it. The wound wasn't healing, it was getting more and more swollen, the red circle and "spider legs" getting bigger and bigger. He was putting on bigger bandages to cover it. He started taping up his arms more in the ring, to cover the injury, wrapping it over the elbow and letting people think it was just a way to pad his elbows a bit. He kept an ace around it when he was out of the ring and complained of a sprain. He had started doing the compresses that Cinnamon suggested, at least once a day, but it wasn't doing any good. Neither was slathering it with antibiotic ointment. _

_It was around this time that he knew he should see a doctor, but he had no insurance and couldn't afford it. He had heard the old time wrestlers talk about going to the emergency room and giving a fake name and address, but that wasn't going to happen now, now they demanded ID before they would help you. _

_Then one Friday night they were at a party with some of his friends and he thought he might have the flu he felt so bad. He staked out a place on the sofa, wishing he could take off the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, but he only had a regular bandage on his arm, trying to give it a little air and he knew the bandage was seeping. But wow, he was **so **hot. "Can you go get me a beer?" he asked Cinnamon, feeling thirsty. _

_"Are you okay?" she asked and it took him a moment to realize what she had asked because her voice sounded so far away. _

_"I'm fine," he said, a little grumpier than he intended. "I just want a fucking beer, okay?"_

_She rose from the sofa and went off to find him a beer and he leaned back on the sofa, feeling like his body was on fire starting from his arm and radiating through him. _

_When she returned and handed him the can of beer, he took it, his hands trembling. "Mox, I'm worried about you," she said._

_"Again, I'm fine," he snapped, then he dropped the beer all over himself and the sofa. He tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't do it, his body just wouldn't cooperate. Instead he fell back on the couch and blacked out._

_When he woke up, Cinnamon was kneeling beside him and he was laying on the floor. There was a crowd around him, people looking worried. His shirt was unbuttoned and Cinnamon was stroking his hair. "Mox, what's wrong?"_

_He stared at her and knew he couldn't fake it any more. "My arm," he whispered. "It's fucked."_

_She got his shirt off and gasped. The bandage he had put on it before they left was soaked through with blood and the yellow and green of infection and smelled awful. "Mox, we have to get you to the hospital." _

_"No," he shook his head. "Can't afford it." _

_"You can't afford to die, either," she protested, helping him sit up. _

_The room, the faces of his friends all swam before his eyes. _

_"I know someone," a guy said. He wasn't a wrestler, but he was friends with a few of the guys. Dean was pretty sure his name was Steve or something like Steve. Scott? Sean? _

_"Someone?" Cinnamon asked, her brows raising._

_The guy nodded. "He's a vet... but for five hundred bucks, he'll treat him up."_

_"You suggest I take him to the** vet**?" Cinnamon's voice rose several octaves._

_"You take him to the hospital and just the doctor will cost you three grand," Steve or Scott or whatever his name was said. "Plus, they'll do labs on him so on and so forth. By the time you get done, you're looking at four to five grand. That's a wound, dogs and cats get wounds all the time. Go to this guy, for five hundred, he'll fix him up and he'll be just fine."_

_Cinnamon had wanted to take him to the hospital, to hell with the bill, they'd figure it out later. Dean, however, thought the five hundred sounded like a much better solution. Steve called his vet friend and as luck would have it, he was on call that night anyway. _

_While it was a little weird being in a vet's office to get treated, it seemed pretty much like any other doctor's office. He was diagnosed as having an abscess, which the good vet drained, cleaned, and packed. He gave him antibiotics and painkillers and gave Cinnamon a huge list of instructions on how to treat the wound. Cinnamon gave the vet five hundred dollars, that he had no clue how she got, but she told him not to worry about it. She took him to her place and he didn't wrestle that weekend. The antibiotics and painkillers threw him for a loop. But by Monday, he was feeling better. _

_That's when he noticed she wasn't wearing the ring. The ring she wore on the day he met her, the ring she had worn since her parents had died, her mother's engagement ring. _

_"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her hand. "Did you hurt your hand or something?"_

_"No." She gave a puzzled look. "Why?"_

_"Your ring," he said. "Your Mom's engagement ring. You always wear it." _

_She tried to change the subject, but he kept after her until she finally confessed. She had borrowed the five hundred dollars to pay for the vet from Steve, but he had expected to be paid back the next day. While Dean had been sleeping the next day, she had done the only thing she knew to raise the money quickly, she had gone to a pawn shop with her mother's engagement ring. _

_He stared at her, knowing how much the ring meant to her. "You shouldn't have done that!" he finally exclaimed. "It was **my **problem."_

_"No," she said, shaking her head. "It was **our** problem. We're a team. And while I loved my mother's ring, I love you too. It-it was just a ring."_

_While her words were brave, he knew she was hurt. And he swore he was going to get that ring back for her. "What type of loan did you go for? Thirty, sixty, or ninety day?"_

_"I didn't," she said. "I sold it to them."_

_"Why?" he couldn't believe it, why did she sell it? Didn't she want to get it back?_

_"Because there is no way we're going to be able to come up with 500 dollars, plus 30 dollars a month for every month of interest," she explained, a slight crack to her voice. "If I just pawned it, I'd be sitting around thinking there was a chance. This way it's gone, it's done." _

_"You're an idiot!" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. "Now I'm going to have to buy it back and they aren't going to just give it to me for five hundred, they want a profit! Now it's going to cost me a lot more!"  
_

_"I'm not asking you to get it back!" She shot back. "It's gone, okay? You want to get mad at me, get mad at me, I don't care. I sold it to pay to get you fixed up and I'm glad I did it. If you're unhappy with me, that's your problem!" _

_"I want to get it back for you!" he protested, not understanding why she was so upset._

_"It's not going to happen!" she shot back. "Just drop it, okay? It hurts enough to lose it. I'm glad I had it so we could use it for you, but it still hurts a little bit, so please, let's just drop it, okay?"_

_He saw the tears in her eyes, but he wouldn't give up, "can you at least let me try?"_

_He was able to get the name of the pawn shop out of her and he went down and talked to the owner, who was actually pretty sympathetic. He was able to get the sale switched to a 30 day pawn loan instead. Dean tried to get a ninety or a sixty day loan, but the owner wouldn't go for that. He was disappointed, but he just figured he'd work twice as hard. But he would get that ring back. It had been his own stupidity that cost her the ring in the first place, if he'd taken better care of that wound, it never would have gotten that badly infected. Cinnamon never said a word about that, never faulted him for that, but he faulted himself. So, he felt it was his job to get that ring back for her. _

_End of Part One_

* * *

**Yes, another Cinnamon and Dean story. I don't know why, but every time I'm pretty sure I've written their saga, Cinnamon and the version of Dean that lives in my head tell me that they aren't done speaking yet. And, to be honest, I think this story is important to the saga.**

**If you like what you've read, please consider leaving me a review, because I'll never know if I'm doing things right if I don't get feedback letting me know. If you didn't like the story, please leave me a review. I will never improve if I don't get feedback letting me know what I'm doing wrong. I know I sound like a broken record, but the worst thing I can get is silence. Silence tells me to give it up and find another hobby. **

**Until next time, take care.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

_Flashbacks are in italics._

* * *

**Promises to Keep**

_Part Two_

_Dean was hustling day jobs at the time, unable to find anything steady, but he knew how to make money. He was crazy Mox, but he also knew how to put on an air of a "nice kid." He knew the places where you could stand and wait for people who needed day labor. He'd start out there and if he got rejected, he'd walk around neighborhoods, looking for jobs he could knock on doors and ask for. He raked leaves, he cleaned gutters if they had a ladder he could use. He did whatever he could for money, determined to save enough to get Cinnamon's ring out of hock._

_And life, the bitch she was, kept taking her share. His battery died on his car and took some. He had to pay rent, and that took some. Fortunately, Cinnamon rarely asked anything of him, even though he was there as much, if not more than he was at his own place. Normally, he tried to give her something without her asking, to try to pay his way, but he didn't offer this month. _

_But, with careful planning and a lot of sacrifice, by the end of the month, he had the money. He got the last of it Friday, too late to go to the pawn shop, but his plan was to go there Saturday evening, because had to wrestle Saturday afternoon. Part of his mind wondered if he should use that ring for another purpose. He and Cinnamon talked all the time like they had a future together, maybe he should give it back and ask her if she'd wear it on the left ring finger? Would that be tacky? Would that be considered cheap? Maybe, to most girls it might be. Sure, the ring had some sentimental value, but most girls would want their own ring, the more expensive the better. But then he thought of who Cinnamon was and realized that no, Cinnamon would think it was wonderful. She would attach some sentimentality to it, that it was her mother's ring, but he bought it back for her. The fact that his own stupidity played the biggest part in the ring being sold in the first place wouldn't matter to her. She would love it, love that the ring was now hers twice over. _

_He was in such a good mood, Saturday. They woke up early, had breakfast, took Rocky for a long walk. Even the pain in the ass dog didn't seem so bothersome today. Then, he and Cinnamon headed to the gymnasium where the show would be. It was an afternoon show, scheduled to start at 3:00, but he went early because they wanted him to cut a couple of promos and he was more than willing. There was a fairly nice restaurant near the pawn shop and if he got paid for wrestling (which he better) he'd suggest they go there for dinner, just the two of them. Then, he'd claim he left something in the car he needed, sneak over to the pawn shop, get the ring, and bring it back. He couldn't wait._

_Then, he got knocked too hard into the ring post, so hard that his head snapped back and then slammed against it, and the next thing he knew it he was out cold and he ended up spending the night in the emergency room instead. Fortunately, the company he was wrestling for had insurance, so that wasn't a problem. And also fortunately, he had a girlfriend who didn't have a problem getting right in the promoter's face when he said that Dean should just go home and rest instead of getting checked out. _

_"This is why you buy the fucking insurance!" she yelled, standing less than two inches from his face. The promoter was a former wrestler himself, a very big guy, but Cinnamon, even though she probably weighed over a hundred pounds less and was at least seven inches shorter, had no problem getting on her toes and glaring at him. "He was out for over three minutes, he's going to the fucking hospital!"_

_He was sitting on a bench in the back, watching this, noting with amusement that sometimes he could see two Cinnamons. His head hurt pretty badly, but the double vision was kind of interesting. It was interesting hearing her swearing so much, too. It wasn't her style. The nausea wasn't much fun though. _

_"Well, it's his own fault-" the promoter started to say._

_"-What?" Cinnamon interrupted. "Don't go there. Don't you **dare** go there with me here. Ryan threw him into the turn posts. I know Ryan didn't mean for it to happen, but still, unless Mox here took a dive at the posts, which he **didn't**, this is entirely **not** his fault. So we are going to the goddamned hospital and if you don't like it, you can piss up wind!" _

_The promoter backed down and Dean ended up in the emergency room where he started vomiting uncontrollably. A CAT scan told him what he and Cinnamon already knew, he had a concussion. They kept him there overnight, until the vomiting stopped and then let Cinnamon take him home the next day, with strict orders for bed rest for at least three days, until he could have a follow up visit with a neurologist. Cinnamon brought him to her place and kept an eye on him, then took him to the doctor on Wednesday._

_The doctor cleared him for "normal" life on Wednesday and tried to tell him he shouldn't wrestle for a month. He nodded but knew he'd ignore that advice. It was then that he remembered the money and the pawn shop. He dropped Cinnamon off at school, then headed right to the pawn shop, hoping and praying that the owner of the shop still had the ring and would understand. _

_The owner of the shop was very sympathetic, but when Dean hadn't picked up the ring Saturday, he had put it out for sale Monday. On Tuesday, it was purchased. "I'm sorry," the owner said, "If you'd called, I might have held it for you, but you didn't call, so I thought you'd been unable to come up with the money." _

_"How... how much did you sell it for?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. _

_"Eight hundred," the guy said. "Gesh, kid, I'm sorry, if you'd just called..." _

_"It's okay," Dean said. But it wasn't okay, and he wanted to smash the jewelry cases, rip up the carpet, beat up the owner, and even worse, burst into tears. Instead, he stood there, trying to collect himself, trying to think of some way to make this better. _

_The owner watched him, then, after a long while, sighed. "Kid, I'm going to do something for you," he said. "I'm going to give you the name and address of the woman who bought the ring. I don't know if she'll sell it back to you or not, but maybe if you went to her with a grand, offered her a small profit, she'd be willing to sell it to you. If she asks how you got the address, you lie. Tell her you sneaked on my computer or you walked in the store right behind her and saw her buy the ring and followed her home, I don't care. Just don't tell her I gave it to you, because if I heard that you did, I will lie and say you broke into my shop and I'll call the cops__,__capisce__?"_

_Hope surged through Dean and he nodded eagerly. A few minutes later, he left the shop with the name, Florence Nad__ot__, who lived on South Skywood Road__. __ He knew where that was, __he just had to raise more money__ and get her to sell him that ring._

* * *

_He went over to Sami's, __and even though he didn't want to, he asked if he could borrow the money. Sami was in the same boat he was, he didn't have money to spare and part of Dean thought he was being an idiot__ asking for the loan__. But, Sami was doing some side work in construction and actually had the cash. He handed him five hundred. "I can't give it to you, bro, wish I could, but I do need it. But, you can borrow it for a couple weeks, okay? __Well, if you need it, __ a month." _

_"I"ll have it paid back by the end of the month," Dean swore. If he could raise five hundred last month, with a messed up arm and getting a concussion, he could raise another five hundred this month. He was sure of it. __He'd pay him every week what he could, try to get it paid off as fast as possible. He even offered to give Sami the ring as collateral, figuring that he could wait another month before giving it to Cinnamon. _

_"No," Sami said, grinning and shaking his head. "You get that ring back, and give it to Cinnamon. She deserves it. Any girl that would hock a family heirloom just to save your __sorry __ass deserves to get it back sooner, rather than later.__ I trust you, you wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important."_

_"Thanks." He knew the word was inadequate, but he also knew Sami understood what this truly meant to him. Sami was just that type of friend. _

* * *

_When he left Sami's, he headed right over to South Skywood road, feeling that maybe, just maybe, the streak of bad luck that started with his arm getting infected was lifting. Surely he'd be able to convince Florence Nadot that she should sell him back Cinnamon's ring. She'd make a good profit on the deal and have the satisfaction of knowing that she made two other people happy. Nobody could resist that. Well, he knew there were some people who could, but most people were good and a good person wouldn't be able to resist, especially when you sweetened the deal with extra money._

_When Florence answered the door, he felt his stomach sink. Florence reminded him of his Aunt Kelly, one of his mother's friends who had lived on and off with him and his mother until she died from a drug overdose. Until she died, Kelly was one of those people who went out of her way to cause pain to people, because she enjoyed seeing others in misery. True, Aunt Kelly had a terrible childhood, playing the part of some living little sex toy for her father and his friends, something she had loved to tell Dean about all the time, but she had let that bad childhood nurture and feed her until it became a beast that fed off the misery of others. She had cut Dean once with a tin can so she and his mother could take him to the hospital and get pain medication for Dean, which they took themselves and sold the rest. She had tried to get Dean drunk by pouring alcohol into has soda, and got furious when he didn't like the taste and threw it away. If she ever caught Dean alone, she would slap at him, claim it was "play" but the slaps and pinches were mean and they hurt. And she had an unhealthy fascination for pinching, hitting, or punching his junk. She wasn't a child molester, not in the true sexual sense of the word, she just seemed to be happiest when Dean was doubled over, unable to stop pain tears from streaming down his face. And if he had trouble sitting for a few days because she'd bruised his balls? That was even better. _

_While Aunt Kelly couldn't claim all of it, Dean knew she could claim responsibility for part of his crazy. His carefully developed, but now slightly out of control crazy inside him, the part that **needed** to wrestle. Not because wrestling was real fighting but because it wasn't. Dean loved that when you wrestled, you were more likely to hurt yourself doing moves than you were to hurt others. And even though he didn't want to admit it, that was half of the appeal, that he was beating the hell out of himself too. People didn't talk about it, people didn't admit it, but wrestling was more of a masochistic wet dream than a sadistic one._

_Florence didn't look like a drug addict, but she had the same glint in her eyes, the same guarded expression on her face, as if she was constantly trying to hide that same beast Aunt Kelly had. His first temptation was to turn and run off, because he didn't want to get involved with anyone like this ever again. But he knew that Kelly was long dead and gone and this woman couldn't hurt him. He was right about the first, Aunt Kelly was dead, but he was wrong about the second, this woman could hurt him. He explained the situation to her, told her how much Cinnamon had loved that ring because it was her mother's engagement ring and she had lost her folks so young. He told her of his own stupidity that caused him to lose the ring. And as he told her, he realized she was getting this odd light behind her eyes. She was enjoying hearing the story, enjoying his misery. Not because she could fix it, but because she had the power to fix it and wouldn't do so. By a simple purchase in the pawn shop, she made him unhappy. The fact that she owned a ring that had a great sentimental value to Cinnamon was a bonus. He suspected she bought things at pawn shops in part because she could imagine the tragic backgrounds that lead people into hocking their items. It would be a double pleasure for her; the pleasure of getting "bargains" and the pleasure of knowing that these items had been sold to the shop because their owners had fallen on hard times. _

_He offered her a thousand dollars and she laughed. "If the ring was that important, you'd come here with more than a grand."_

_He swallowed, choking back his first reaction, which was to grab this woman by the neck and squeeze. "Money is tight," he admitted, "I'm a wrestler, but I'm just starting out and my girlfriend is a full time college student on a scholarship. I-I can give you twelve hundred, but that's all the money I've got."  
_

_She laughed and he saw the gleam in her eyes. She believed he only had twelve hundred and that delighted her because she could pass that up and keep her treasure. "That's not enough," she said. "If this ring really was important, you'd have come here with sixteen hundred. You'd bring double what I paid, because that's the way the world works. But you came here with a measly extra four hundred dollars. You don't really want it back."_

_"Yes, I do," he protested, even though his heart was sinking. "If I had sixteen hundred dollars, I would offer it gladly, but it took everything I had to come up with this much. Ma'am, you've only owned the ring for a couple days, four hundred dollars is a pretty good profit."_

_"Yeah, but I like the ring," she said, shrugging. "Maybe if you come back with sixteen... no, let's make it two grand. You come back here with two grand, and **maybe** I'll consider selling it to you." _

_For a moment, his brain started working on who he could possibly ask for a loan, started running in his head if he could raise the money, but then he looked at Florence and realized that if he showed up with two grand, she'd want two and a half. And so on and so on. Yes, there was eventually a price where she would sell, because at some point even her joy of misery had a price, but he would never be able to meet that price. And Florence would probably brag to her friends, maybe even her boyfriend or husband if she had one, about how she had this ring and some kid had tried to buy it off of her. She'd wear that ring and every time she saw it, she'd smile, knowing that somewhere, there was a guy who had failed to return it to the person who should be wearing it. That would give her a sense of satisfaction nothing else could match._

_When he realized there was nothing that could be done, and that for him to try to reason with her was just giving her more misery to gloat over, he left. He went right back to Sami's place to return the money he borrowed. When Sami saw him, he made him come inside and have a beer._

_"I'm driving Cinn's car," he protested. He never drove Cinnamon's car any less than dead sober. He wasn't a goodie two shoes, he'd driving his own car more than just a tad bit inebriated, but he wouldn't do that to Cinnamon. _

_"One beer, won't fuck you up," Sami said, "And it's light beer. Drink it slow and tell me what's going on, you look shook up."_

_"I'm pissed," he admitted. He sat on the couch and let Sami give him a beer, even though with his concussion he wasn't supposed to drink. _

_"What happened?" _

_He told Sami the story, half expecting Sami to laugh, but his friend was remarkably sympathetic. "Man, that's tough. That woman sounds like a real bitch."_

_"That's one way of putting it," Dean muttered. He didn't want to explain that he knew exactly what type of woman Florence Nadot was, because he once had an "aunt" who was the same type. Sami was a great friend, Sami was probably his best friend, but he didn't want to take that trip into the dark part of his soul, not today._

_"I might be able to help you come up with another eight hundred," Sami said, thoughtfully. "I've got some favors I can call in. It'll all be loans, the favors aren't important enough for folks to outright give it to me, but I can probably work out some decent enough payback plans with them. If you bring her two grand, she'll sell it to you, right?"_

_Dean shook his head. "She says she'd think about it, which means no. If I bring two grand, she'll want more and more and more. She's just that type. I can't come up with the amount of money that will make her happy, neither can you. But I appreciate the offer." _

_Sami shrugged. "Sorry I can't be more help. So, what are you going to do?"_

_Dean took a sip of his beer and sighed. "What can I do? I fucked up. I cost Cinnamon something she really loved, one of the few things she had from her mother. I fucked up with the abscess that made her have to hock the ring. Then I fucked up again by getting a concussion and forgetting. Why does she put up with me?" He shook his head. _

_"Because for some reason, the lady loves you," Sami said, "Personally? I think she's crazy. She could do a lot better than you." _

_"Tell me about it," he muttered. "Anyone would be better than me." _

_Sami frowned. He had been trying to joke with him, figuring he'd make Mox feel better, but Mox was taking his words seriously. "Look, it's just a bunch of shitty circumstances. Cinnamon realizes that, that's why she didn't get on your case."_

_"That's not her style," Dean said. "I mean, she'll be furious if I get another cut and don't take care of it, but she knows and I know that I learned my lesson, so there's no point in her lecturing me. She realizes that. And you know? That makes it even worse."_

_"Yeah," Sami said, nodding. "Sometimes it's better if your lady gets bitchy. At least then you can get mad at her and feel justified with it." _

_"So, what do I do?" he asked, more to have something to say than any expectations that Sami would have an answer._

_"Well, you still have the money you were going to pay to get the ring out of hock," Sami reminded him. "Why don't you take that to a jewelry store and see if you can get her a similar ring?" _

_"It won't be the same." He lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose. "It won't be her mother's ring."_

_"Yeah, but it's better than leaving her with nothing for her trouble," Sami reminded him. "It will show her that you at least made an effort to make things right again. Yeah, okay, you aren't going to get much ice for the money you have, but you should be able to get her something that won't turn her finger green." _

_"Yeah, maybe." He wasn't excited with the idea, but he figured it was better than doing nothing._

* * *

_He smoked three cigarettes while he drank his beer. When he left, he didn't feel much better, but he drove to a jewelry store, a discount place, and looked to try to find a ring as close to the ring Cinnamon had pawned. Her mother's ring had been a fairly simple diamond ring, but on one side of the diamond was a Peridot, her mother's birthstone, on the other a ruby, her father's. There was no ring with those three stones in it, never mind one that looked close to that. He could have had something custom made, but that would have cost him far more than what he had._

_He ended up buying a simple ring with a probably less than stellar diamond, but it looked shiny enough. The band was ten karat gold and it only cost him three hundred dollars. It wasn't a quite real engagement ring, the clerk explained to him, more of a promissory ring, which apparently was like an "engaged to be engaged" ring. But, the clerk also assured him, he was welcome to use it as an engagement ring. Dean wished he could be happier about it, but he still couldn't help feeling like he'd failed, from costing Cinnamon the ring in the first place, to not knowing how to get Florence Nadot to sell Cinnamon's ring to him. He thought he could right a wrong in her life and instead he was giving her a cheap fix. Instead of healing a wound, he was slapping a band-aid on it and going, "Yeah, this'll do, won't it?" _

_He went to pick her up at her college and took her to KFC for dinner. He knew if he'd gotten the right ring, he would have taken her someplace nicer, but even though he had the money to take her someplace nice, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He just felt fortunate that she loved KFC so much that she would think it was great of him. And yet that too, made him feel guilty, like he was doing this under false pretenses. "You'll love it, but I'm just going through the motions."_

_It was after they had finished eating, when she was tearing apart a chicken breast to bring the meat, but not the bones, home to Rocky that he finally worked up the courage to mention it. "Cinnshine, I-I have something for you." _

_"For me?" She looked at him, a grin spreading across her face, lighting it up. It was dark out, but a streetlamp was shining through the big window they were sitting by and between that and the fluorescent lights, it made her hair look like it was glowing. "Is this a special occasion I forgot about?"_

_He shook his head. "No, I just-I just- well, I guess I just feel bad."_

_"About what?" She finished picking off the meat and was packing it into the container their mashed potatoes had come in, but she pushed the container aside and looked at him, frowning._

_"Because I screwed up," he said. "You warned me about taking care of my arm and I ignored it. I-I cost you your mother's ring."_

_A pained expression crossed her face for the briefest of seconds, but was quickly replace with one of sympathy. "You made a mistake. It could happen to anyone." _

_"No," he disagreed. "It was stupid. You told me to take better care of it, and I ignored it. And if I was the only one affected, well, that would be my problem, but I cost you something important."_

_She reached out and touched his hand. "Spilled milk, Mox. I won't lie, I didn't want to lose the ring, but like I said, you're more important. If I could turn back time and fix it, I would, but I can't and I still say you're more important than the ring. So please, stop beating yourself up for it. I didn't do it to lay a guilt trip on you."_

_"I know," he said, his voice quiet, as he reached into his pocket. "That's why I got you this." He pulled out the little box and handed it to her. _

_"F-for me?" She took the box a look of wonder on her face._

_"It's not the ring," he said quickly. "I tried to get that back, but it's sold." He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Of course she knew it wasn't the ring, the name of the jewelry store on the box made that obvious and he was just reminding her the ring was truly gone, even if he hadn't told her about Florence Nadot. "But, well, I hope you like it," he added, and had another internal cringe moment as he realized how lame that sounded._

_She opened the box and gasped. "Mox, it's...beautiful, thank you."_

_He knew what he should do, he **should** just keep his mouth shut and smile and nod, but he seemed determined to stick his foot in his mouth tonight and before he could stop himself, he heard the words coming out. "It's not a big deal. It's not a great ring, but I figured it's better than nothing." _

_"Mox, I love it," Cinnamon said, staring at the ring in wonder. "It's beautiful. It's-" _

_She stopped, and he knew she was getting emotional, ready to cry because she believed it was the best he could do, this weak, second hand effort. Unable to stop himself, anger surged through him, anger at himself for being so incompetent, anger at her for not calling him on it. He wanted **her** to be angry, he wanted her to tell him that he fucked up and that this stupid ring would never replace the other one and that he should take it back to the store and stop insulting her with his cheap trinkets. It took everything he had not to yell at her, to tell her to stop being so damned **nice** about this, and to call him on his stupidity, but as angry and upset as he was, he knew he had no right to take this joy away from her, so he swallowed back that anger like it was a crushed aspirin placed into his mouth. "I-I'm glad you like it." He forced himself to smile too, even though that didn't help the bitter taste in his mouth. _

_She looked at him a look of hope on her face and he knew she was hoping he'd take the ring out of the box and put it on her finger, just as he wanted to do if it had been the right ring, but he couldn't do it with this one. "You should see if it fits," he suggested, so she'd know that he wasn't going to do what she wanted. And he sure wasn't going to use that ring to see if she wanted to make their plans for the future official. It was the wrong fucking ring, that was all there was to it. _

_If she was disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm for his own gift to her, she never let him know. She put the ring on and the entire time they dated, she never took it off. She would look at it and admire it at times. He learned to ignore it and he was sure she never knew that whenever he noticed the ring, he was inwardly cringing, feeling he had failed her._

_End of Part Two_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**** This will probably be a four part story. I originally was going to put it up in "Between the Lines," but it got too long. And I feel it needs to be this long. **

**Special thanks to: **

**Maria****: Yep, I don't know about Jonathan Good, but Dean Ambrose sure acts like he's got a good case of AADD. Since I have a whopping case of that myself, I know that sometimes, even when you're doing something you really enjoy, you want to fidget. So, I figured to amuse himself, Dean shoots certain people on the TV. I'm glad you like my writing. I try to write like life plays out. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's crazy, sometimes it's sad and everything in between and often all of these things happen within the same couple of hours. I'm just glad you enjoy it.**

**Nancy:**** I'm to hear you like the Dean/Cinnamon stories, because those two sure speak to me every time I sit down to write a story. And I'm glad you're enjoying this one. **

**Just A Reader:**** Aw, thank you. Wow, it's nice so many people love hearing about Cinnamon and Dean and like that Dean uses the WWE network for Nerf target practice. :-D I too, would love to watch Dean on You Tube going off about whatever the hell he feels like. I figure it would be a lot more interesting than Total Divas. Yeah, the ring? Well, you know now that didn't work out quite like he hoped. But, there's still half the story to go.**

**To everyone else who reviewed? Thank you so much. Angnesita1385, Lauraxxx, Psion53, ChelleLew, Seth Rollins babe, Labinnacslove, AnimalloversInc, ghunter182003, DemonEyes44, Nattiebrosketti, Hyrde, and HardcoreAmbroseGal89. All of your reviews mean so much to me. Thank you for taking the time to let me know what you think of my story.  
**

**Until next time, take care. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

* * *

**Promises To Keep**

_Part Three_

"Dad? Dad?"

Dean looked up, realizing that Neil was standing in the doorway, looking in at him with a worried expression on his face. "Oh, hi," he said, shaking his head to clear out the last of his memory fog. "I didn't hear you come home."

"Yeah, I noticed. Are you okay?" Neil came into the room, his walk slow and a little clumsy with the walking cast, but still he hardly ever had to use his crutches anymore, and that was a vast improvement. He came over and sat down on the bed next to his dad.

"I'm fine," Dean said, realizing he was still holding the ring box. "I-I was just-" he paused, then realized there was no reason not to tell the truth. "I was looking at your mom's jewelry, hoping I'd come up with an idea of what to get her for Christmas."

Neil nodded. "Mom doesn't wear much jewelry," he said. "She'd probably rather have a new vacuum cleaner."

Dean put the ring box back into the jewelry box and shut it, trying not to laugh. "I thought the same thing, but Roman says that would be a bad idea."

"Why?" Neil looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "Mom keeps complaining the vacuum cleaner doesn't suck anymore."

Dean grinned, amused that his son could see his point of view. "Apparently, you aren't supposed to give women practical things as gifts."

"Then get her a Dean Ambrose T-shirt," Neil suggested, grinning himself.

"Yeah, _that's_ a thoughtful gift." Dean closed the box and replaced it on the dresser.

"Throw in a Dean Ambrose hoodie, that'll make it special."

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "I have an idea. I have to think about it though. And speaking of your Mom, she'll be home soon. Do you want a snack? She said she had cookies in the cookie jar for us. And I can make you some hot chocolate to go with it."

"With milk instead of water?" Neil sounded hopeful. Dean had read the instructions on the hot chocolate packets and found out you could use warm milk instead of water. They both agreed that hot chocolate made with milk was a lot better than made with hot water. Cinnamon did not always agree.

"Of course. And while we're having our snack you can tell me about school."

"Oh, that'll be exciting." Neil rolled his eyes as he rose from the bed.

"Well, I'll pretend I'm fascinated," Dean said, putting his hand on his son's shoulder as they walked out of the room together. "Because you know, that's what a good father does."

* * *

Dean didn't say anything, but now that he had seen the ring again, it stayed on his mind, all through dinner, all through Smackdown, even through his internet show, which he was afraid wasn't going to be as good as he usually did, but he figured he could be off on one show without suffering too much. He didn't talk as long as he usually did either, because he spent some of that "filming" time checking things out on the net. But, he sent them off about forty five minutes worth of his rambling, figuring the editors would get a good 15-30 minutes out of it. When he was finished, he went and found Cinnamon, who was sorting out Christmas presents for Neil in the master bedroom. "Hey Cinn,"

She looked up, a Roman Reigns figure in one hand, a Seth Rollins in the other. "Hey, Mox, Do you think it'll be okay to put these two in the same box?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, they're getting along now, I don't think they'll fight." He walked over and sat down on the bed next to her, looking at the vast array of stuff spread out on the lower half of the bed. "Wow, this is a lot of WWE stuff."

"This is just the stuff you brought back with you from Vegas," she remarked. "All spread out, it looks like a whole lot, doesn't it? That's why I figured I'll put multiple things in one box rather than trying to wrap all of this stuff separately."

Dean picked up one of his own action figures and studied it. "Is it too much?"

Cinnamon shrugged. "It's a lot. He's going to have one of the best Christmases of his life, but I think he'll understand this is a different Christmas from normal. I don't think he'll assume every Christmas will be like this."

"No, they send me this crap all year 'round," Dean said. "He can have a WWE extravaganza Christmas until the day I retire." He put the action figure aside. "Cinn, I have to talk to you for a moment."

She put down the Reigns and Rollins figures and turned to him. "Is everything okay? I know something was on your mind all evening."

"Yeah? How could you tell?" he was honestly curious.

She shrugged. "I just know you. You seemed a little too quiet this evening. You only insulted Seth's ring gear once and usually you're good for three or four times. And not once did you yell at Roman, 'The Nineties called-they want their pants back!'"

Now it was his turn to shrug. "I guess I'm getting used to that. I still think they could do better for both of them. Roman should be in the tight, sexy pants at least. But, no one asks my opinion, so I'm getting used to it. Look, not to change the subject abruptly, but I have to go somewhere tomorrow."

She put the figures down and turned to him. "Okay," she said, drawing out the word to encourage him to continue. He was an adult, she knew he wasn't going to tell her he had to go somewhere unless it was for longer than a few hours.

"I'm leaving at eight in the morning, if I'm lucky, I'll be back tomorrow night, but if I'm not, I'll call you." He tried not to fidget, hoping she wouldn't ask questions. When he had flown to Vegas to get the toys for Neil, he had told her exactly why he was going and shared other details of his trip. Now he just wanted her to accept that he had something he was doing and to leave it at that.

She studied him and realized that he wasn't going to offer any extra information. "Do you want to talk about it?" she finally asked him.

"Not really," he said. "I mean, nothing bad is going on, everything is fine. I just have some business I need to take care of."

A look of concern passed over her face, but only for an instant, then she nodded, looking as if he'd just told her about a quick trip to the corner market he planned to make. "Are you flying and do you need a ride to the airport?"

"You don't have to," he said. "I can get a taxi to take me."

"Don't be silly," she said. "I'll drive you. And when you get back, call me and I'll pick you up."

"What do you think I should tell Neil?" he asked, knowing Neil would question why he was leaving.

"Just what you told me," she said, "That you have business to take care of and you'll be home when you're finished."

* * *

Neil and Cinnamon both went along to drop him off at the airport the next morning. Neil had tried to ask more pointed questions about what his Dad was doing, but Cinnamon spoke up and said kindly, but with that firm edge to her voice, "it's your dad's business, not ours," and he stopped asking. Part of Dean wondered if that was a good thing. It was great for the situation, certainly, but if they were a real family, shouldn't it be that his business was theirs and vice versa?

For probably the billionth time in his life, he wished he had grown up in a normal family, so he would have a better understanding on how things worked. Yes, Roman's family had adopted him and he was forging his own family with Cinnamon and Neil, but he still had no clue sometimes. If he'd had at least a semi-normal family, he figured he would know if this was a matter of Grave Concern to Cinnamon and Neil, or if saying, "Hey, gotta go for a day, possibly two, and can't tell you why," was a perfectly normal thing to do.

* * *

His flight landed fifteen minutes early, a nice surprise and he was quickly able to get to the car rental desk. Within an hour of landing, he was on the road in a Ford Focus, driving through the city he once called home. Like most people returning to the home turf after years of not spending any significant time there, he was struck by how different things were, and yet how much the same they were, too, but he wasn't there to gawk, he had business to take care of.

He made a stop at the Bank of America where he had an account, another thing that made him wonder. He had been staying with Cinnamon since the end of September, and she had yet to ask him for a dime. He had given her money to buy Neil's Christmas presents, he had paid for a few meals out they had eaten. He had even paid the copay for a couple of Neil's follow up visits with his doctor when Dean had taken him instead of Cinnamon. But other than that, he had paid for nothing. Cinnamon paid for all the food brought into the house, she paid for the lights, cable, and any other household expenses. Should he be giving her money for that? Should he be setting up a joint checking account where part of his pay would go directly there, so even when he was back on the road, he could help them financially?

_Should __I__ be thinking about selling __my__ place i__n__ Las Vegas?_

* * *

When Dean pulled up to the house on South Skywood Road, he noted Florence Nadot's house looked almost the same as it did the last time he was there. Maybe the house was a little more worn, and there was a swing set in the back yard and a couple of beaten up kid's bicycles on the porch, but otherwise the same.

He knew she still lived there. He had looked that information up online before he made arrangements to fly out here. He just hoped and prayed Florence or anyone else in the house was not a wrestling fan. He knocked on the door.

The door was opened by a girl who looked a little older than Leah, and a little younger than Neil. She was cute enough, Dean supposed, but he imagined he could see a tiny bit of the gleam he saw in Florence's eyes. He hoped he was wrong. "Hi," Dean said, trying to sound a lot calmer than he felt. "Is your Mom home?"

"Hold on." The girl turned and screamed out, "MAAAA! MAAAAAA! There's some guy at the door for you! _MAAAAAA!_"

Her voice was screechy and Dean tried not to cringe. After she was done alerting her mother, the girl just stared at him until Florence herself came up. "Yeah?"

When he had first met Florence, he thought she wasn't that much older than he and Cinnamon were. They were in their late teens then, and she had looked as if she were in her early twenties. Dean was now thirty, Cinnamon twenty-nine, but Florence looked as if she were in her late forties to mid fifties. Her once dark hair was now dyed to a red brassy color, and he could see gray streaking in the roots. But what really had aged her was her face. It looked much harder, much colder, as if her sadistic joy at watching others suffering had somehow leaked from just her eyes to spill over onto her face, aging her prematurely.

"Do you remember me?" Dean asked. "I'm the guy who tried to buy back my girlfriend's mother's engagement ring from you."

Florence's eyes lit up, but not in a way that made Dean feel hopeful, It was the same bright eyed look he saw on his mother's face when someone showed her they had drugs. "Yeah, I remember you," she said, and he could see she was hoping that he had her fix, that she could still make him miserable.

"Do you still have the ring?" He wasn't sure if she would tell the truth or not, but he had to ask.

"Yeah," she smirked, clearly delighted he still wanted it. "I still got it, Not that it's any business of yours, I bought it, it's mine."

"I want to buy it back from you," he said. "You said you'd take two grand for-"

"-Yeah, ten years ago I said that," she interrupted. Her eyes were getting brighter and brighter, and it was obvious she was certain she could crush him as badly as she had done the first time they met. "But that was a long time ago, you can't expect me to honor that price."

"I don't." He refused to show her how much he wanted this, he refused to give her that satisfaction. He wouldn't give a crack addict, crack, he wasn't going to give a misery addict her fix. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a good sized wad of cash. "I've got five grand here. It's more than fair, it's goddamned generous. You wouldn't be able to pawn it for that much, you certainly couldn't sell it for that much, I want the ring."

She stared at the money and he saw he was putting her in a dilemma. She wanted the money, it was too much to just pass up, but she wasn't sure that the sum was enough to have made him suffer. "It's been appraised at over four grand."

It was a lie, he was sure of it, but he decided not to call her on it. "Yeah? Appraisal is for insurance purposes and only covers if the item has to be replaced. You won't get nearly that if you attempt to hock it. I'm offering you enough money to have another one made just like it if you want, and probably with some cash left over. I just want _that_ ring."

"Why is it that important?" she asked.

Her eyes began to glitter again and he knew she was hoping for a sob story, a tale of woe and misery, how even after all these years, not having that ring was managing to make his and Cinnamon's life less happy than it could be. "Because it was her mother's," he said, shrugging. "We'd pretty much forgotten about it, but I remembered it the other day and thought it would make a good Christmas gift."

Her expression fell a bit and she looked at the money again. "I don't believe you really want it," she said. "If you did you-"

He decided it was his turn to interrupt, "-I want it enough to give you five grand." She didn't know he had come her from West Virginia, she didn't know who he was, for all she knew he just lived across town. "And that's it."

"What's going on?" A male voice called up and a guy came to the door, someone who looked to be about the same age as Florence, wearing a badly stained wife beater. He looked through the window at Dean. "Who are you?"

"I'm the guy who wants to buy a ring your wife owns," Dean said, instantly recognizing that this guy had a price and no other agenda. "She bought it from a pawn shop ten years ago. It was my g-wife's mother's engagement ring and I want to buy it back for her." He didn't know exactly why he lied about Cinnamon being his wife, but a tiny voice told him that was the smart thing to do. "She paid eight hundred for it, Eight hundred dollars then is like a grand now. I'm willing to give her five grand."

"Holy," the guy, Mr. Nadot, Dean assumed, said. "_Five grand?"_

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'd like to surprise my wife, she's pretty much forgotten about it. But I'm not going to mortgage my house for it. I don't want to argue, I don't want to fight. I'm offering five grand, take it or leave it. For five grand, I can have the ring remade if I want."

Mr. Nadot looked at his wife. "For five grand you can buy another ring and I can get my truck fixed. Do it." His voice was firm.

Dean knew Florence was not happy with her husband's interference, he was giving in too quickly, spoiling her fun. "It's my ring," she snapped. "It's my choice."

"Yeah? If I remember, that's the ring you used _my_ credit card to buy and maxed it out," Mr. Nadot reminded her. "So, I _do_ have a say in it. Sell him the damned ring."

"I'm not sure," Florence said, taking one last stab at taking back control of the situation. Dean could tell she was getting madder and madder that her misery fix was being hijacked by her husband. "I need a minute to think about this."

"Nope," Dean shook his head. "Deal is on the table. If you're not interested, I walk. Five grand may not throw us into the poor house, but it's not chicken feed either. I really want to surprise my wife with the ring, but it's not crucial. We've lived this long without it, we'll continue to go on. So, if you're not interested, I'll be on my way." He turned to go.

"STOP!" Mr. Nadot roared.

Dean didn't stop, but slowed his walk across the porch to the stairs.

"Florence, go get the fucking ring!" Mr. Nadot shouted at his wife in a voice that promised life would not be pleasant for his wife if she dared disobey him. "Mister, for five grand, it's yours!"

Dean paused then and turned around. "Good," he said. "I've got some paperwork I need you to sign."

End of Part III

* * *

**Special thanks to:**

**Nancy:**** Yeah, I feel sorry for Dean too, but as you can see, all that self depreciation comes in handy when he wants to make things right again. But yeah, I just figure Dean can be harder on himself than he should be. But, I hope now that you've read this part, you feel a little less sad for him. **

**To Lauraxxx, Psion53, Hardcoreambrosegal89, ChelleLew, DemonEyes44, Seth Rollins Babe, labinnacslove, and NattieBroskette, thank you so much for taking the time to review my story, you guys are the best. **

**I****f you are reading this and haven't reviewed? Will you consider taking the time to do so? It doesn't take that much time to write, "Good story." And if you think it needs to be improved, how will I know if you don't tell me?  
**

**The next part will be the conclusion. It will most likely be posted Monday. **

**Until next time, take care...**

**Willow.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer Dean Ambrose is the property of the WWE and/or the actors / sports entertainers / superstars that portray them. This story is intended as tribute only and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. **

**Original characters are the property of me, and the children of my own imagination. Any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. **

* * *

**Promises To Keep  
**_Part Four_

Now that the deal was struck, Florence smiled and pretended she took great delight in selling the ring to him. She and her husband invited him into the house and Mr. Nadot even offered him a beer while Florence went and got the ring. Dean declined the beer, this was business.

As far as Dean could tell, the ring was fine. Sure, Florence could have sold the stones and replaced them with glass, but Dean really wasn't worried about that. He brought out the paperwork he had created printed back at Cinnamon's house. He hadn't had a picture of the ring, but he had described it as best he could remember it, including the inscription on the inside. Cinnamon had told him about that: When her father had bought the ring for her mother, the price included inscribing three letters, each additional letter was two dollars. He had been unable to afford anything but the three free letters, so the letters he picked were ALY, which stood for Always Love You. Cinnamon's mother's name was Alice, but the day he proposed and she accepted, he nicknamed her Aly (Allie) and called her nothing else until the accident that claimed their lives. Dean did not share this story with the Nadots.

Dean had to give it to Florence, she hid her misery addition well, as most addicts do. She pretended she was thrilled to sell the ring, even pretended she was happier about being able to make Cinnamon's Christmas, than she was about the five thousand dollars. "Your wife will be so happy," she cooed as she signed the receipt he was keeping for his records. He had given them the receipt for their records already.

"She's pretty happy now," Dean said. "We've got an awesome son, good jobs, life is pretty good. But this will make her even happier and that's all that matters to me." It was the truth; it was also a little gushy for him, but he knew it would dig into Florence. He thought about Cinnamon, how she had raised their son alone for all those years, working hard as a paramedic and a single parent, a woman who took care of the wrestles in the WVW, being in everything but official title only, their Den mother. If anyone had a reason to be bitter it was Cinnamon. She'd lost her parents, she'd lost her dog, she lost the father of her child for years. Yet she was happy. Their son was happy. Cinnamon looked a little older than when he'd met her, but she didn't look old at all. She looked like a woman at the peak of her life. He realized how lucky he was to have someone like that in his life, someone who could ride off the bad and focus on the good, someone who found life good no matter what the circumstances were, and wanted to help others, than someone like Florence or his Aunt Kelly, someone who would delight in seeing others hurting.

When the paperwork was signed, the ring in his pocket, and he was out the door, he started down the porch stairs, stopped, and turned around. Florence was still in the doorway with her husband and he gave them a cocky grin and pulled another wad of cash out of his pocket for them to see. "By the way? You settled too quickly, I would have given you ten grand if you'd held out." He stuffed the money back in his pocket and practically sprang off the porch and hurried to the car, not like a man who was afraid of what they'd say, but like a man who had such a wonderful family and such a good life that he just couldn't wait to get back to it.

And it was absolutely true.

* * *

Dean was able to get a flight back that evening, which he was grateful for. He had been hoping he wouldn't have to spend the night in Ohio and he hadn't even packed an overnight bag.

The flight wasn't very full either, another thing to be grateful for. He was in the first row in first class and he didn't have anyone next to him, which suited him just fine. He wanted some time to think.

In his pocket was the ring. He had stopped in a jewelry store and paid to have three letters engraved into the ring while he grabbed a cheap sandwich at a nearby restaurant. The jeweler also inspected and cleaned it for him, and put it in a really nice navy blue velvet lined box. Out of curiosity, he asked them how much they would give him for the ring, had he wanted to sell it. They told him they would give him three hundred dollars. The stones were real, but they weren't of the highest quality in the world. He had to fight the urge to laugh hysterically when they told him. _No,_ he thought. _This ring is priceless_.

He took it out of his pocket and opened the box. Cleaned and shined, it looked almost brand new and he was pleased. He wasn't the type to believe in mystical new age bullshit, but he felt that the cleaning had not just worked on the surface, that it had cleansed the ring of any bad energy it might have picked up in those years being in Florence's possession. The three letters he had engraved made him feel like he had claimed the ring as his own to give, more so than the five grand he had paid for it.

He just had to decide if it was just a Christmas gift, or if it would mean something more.

By the time the plane landed, he was almost sure which one it was meant to be.

* * *

Even though Dean had called Cinnamon and told her that he'd take a cab from the airport, he wasn't all that shocked to see her and Neil waiting for him outside the area where the cabs were idling. They were sitting on one of the benches and when Neil saw him he shouted. "Dad!" and waved.

Dean came over. "Hey, you two." He hugged Neil, gave Cinnamon a hug and kiss and marveled at how right that felt. "You didn't have to come."

Cinnamon smiled. "I know, but we decided to anyway."

"Shouldn't Neil be sleeping?" Thanks to a layover in Chicago of all places, it was well after midnight now.

"Dad," Neil said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not a baby! And it's not a school night."

"Oh," Dean said, forcing himself not to grin at Neil's declaration of maturity. "I forgot. Well, then, I guess it's okay."

They started heading to the short term parking garage. "I was going to have Jasper come over and watch Neil and come myself, but Neil really wanted to tag along," Cinnamon explained.

Dean shrugged. "I was gone for less than a day." He didn't want to admit that deep down, he was thrilled that even being gone that short of time, Neil was willing to tag along with his mom, just to be able to see him as soon as possible. Sure, Dean was used to people not being able to wait to see him, but they were fans. This was his flesh and blood. And he knew that Neil didn't want to come because he was Dean Ambrose, the wrestler, he wanted to come because it was Dean Ambrose, his dad.

"He's only had a dad for less than a year," Cinnamon said. "You're still a bit of a novelty."

"Good point." Dean grinned. "Give it another six months and he'll be like, 'oh, it's just you.'"

"I doubt that," Cinnamon said, "Once this leave of yours is over, you'll be gone an awful lot."

"Yeah, but I'm better with technology now. I'll have the Skype thing down cold by the time I leave."

When they reached the car, Cinnamon held up the keys. "Do you want to drive?"

Dean shook his head. "I know I've spent most of my day sitting on my butt on planes, but I'm tired, why don't you drive?"

They left the parking garage and headed home. "So, were you able to do what you needed to?" Cinnamon asked when they were on the main highway.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"Good." She nodded and looked for all the world like a woman who was completely satisfied with his answer, but Dean knew her well enough to know she was curious about why he'd gone back to Ohio. He also knew she would never ask him for specifics.

* * *

By the time they got home, Neil was sound asleep in the back seat. Dean remembered the first night he had come home with them after Raw, how he had felt so awkward as Cinnamon lead a half-asleep Neil into the house. Now he opened the back door, unfastened Neil's seat belt and scooped the boy up. Nine was too old to be carried normally, but Dean was strong and the kid was asleep. Besides, there was a part of Dean that just liked having excuses to hold Neil. It was like he was trying to make up for all those years.

When they got in the house, Dean automatically took Neil to his room, helped him into his pajamas and got him to bed. "Brushed my teeth before we left," Neil mumbled, still most of the way asleep. "Haven't eaten or drank nothing."

"It's okay," Dean said, as he tucked the blankets around his son and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "You just get some sleep, little man."

"Love you, Dad," Neil said.

"Love you, too." Dean wasn't sure if Neil heard him or not, but that didn't matter.

* * *

Out in the kitchen, Cinnamon was taking something out of the refrigerator. "We had meatloaf," she said, holding up a plastic container. "Would you like me to fix you a plate?"

Dean nodded. Cinnamon made terrific meatloaf and the sandwich he'd gotten while waiting for the ring to be engraved seemed like it was days ago, rather than just a few hours. "Can I have a beer, too?"

"Sure." Cinnamon put the container with the meatloaf on the counter and reached back into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Molsen's and a bottle of some cranberry sparkling drink. She handed him the beer and he sat down at the kitchen table to drink it.

In ten minutes or so, she put a plate in front of him with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans on it and looked like one of those dinners you'd see on a sitcom, a typical family meal. No one was going to offer Cinnamon her own show on the cooking channel, but Dean liked her cooking just fine. It was the type of food he imagined "normal" families ate when he was growing up. "There are still some cookies for dessert if you want them," she said.

"Thanks," he said and started eating. Cinnamon sat down with her drink. That was another thing he found kind of neat. Most of the time, they ate meals together, but the few times they weren't able to, she would sit with him when he did eat, clearly enjoying his company, even if it was just to watch him shoving food in his mouth. "So, what did you and Neil do today?" he asked.

"We got the Christmas stuff out for the tree," she said, "We'll need to go buy a tree tomorrow or the next day."

"Cool." He took a bite of the meatloaf and chewed slowly. When he finished swallowing, he looked at her. "Cinn, can we talk for a second?"

She didn't make some sarcastic remark about weren't they talking anyway, she just nodded and said, "What's on your mind?"

"This is going to sound dumb," he said, "But remember when we first got back together?"

"Yes," she said, smiling softly. "It wasn't that long ago."

"Yeah." He nodded. "Well, a couple times the subject of other women came up." He looked at her.

Now it was her turn to nod, but he saw a very wary look on her face. "I remember. I also remember telling you that it didn't-"

"-matter," he finished, interrupting her. "Yeah, Cinn, you've made it really clear that you don't care if I sleep with anyone else, as long as I don't tell you about it. But, what I want to know is why? Why _don't_ you care? I'm the father of your kid. I've been staying under your roof for the last couple months. You have made it clear that you aren't even looking for anyone in your life, that you're willing to accept that I'm not going to be able to be here full time once I go back to work. Yet, you're willing to let me live the life of a single guy when I'm on the road, why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Her brow was slightly furrowed and she had a guarded look in her eyes.

"Just what it is, _why?_" he said. "Why don't you care if I sleep around?"

"Because-" she began, then stopped and started again. "There's an old expression, Mox, half a loaf is better than none, are you familiar with it?"

"I've heard it a time or two," he admitted, smiling at her using her "bedroom" nickname for him. They weren't in the bedroom, but out in the kitchen, with Neil sleeping soundly, it was close enough.

"Well, my take on that is that half a Mox is better than none," she said. "I know your rep. I've heard the interviews where you talk about having women in different towns. I know that you and Renee are Friends with Benefits. I've even heard that you have more than a few other similar arrangements. I've seen how women react to you. Roman may be the Samoan sex god, but you command more than your fair share of attention too."

"What does that have to do with us?" He speared a forkful of green beans and put them in his mouth, chewing them. How come when _he_ made green beans, they tasted like the inside of the can, but when she made them, they didn't, they tasted warm and green and faintly buttery? It was one of life's great mysteries.

"I'm..." she hesitated, reaching for the right words. "I don't want to lose you," she finally admitted. "And I'm afraid that if I start going, 'you have to do this, you have to do that, you can't do this, you can't do that,' that you'll get fed up. You're doing so good with Neil, the two of you have really gotten close fairly quickly, and I love that. I-I don't want to be the one that drives you away." She looked down at the table, and began tracing her finger along the top of it, as if following a pattern only she could see. "Right now, you're here and I'm here, so we're always available. You want sex, we have sex. I want to have sex, we have sex. But if I start saying that I want to be the _only_ person you have sex with, that will probably work right here right now, but what about when you go on the road? What happens when you really need it and I'm not there? Then what?"

"I do have hands," he reminded her. "I have taken care of that problem by myself before."

"I know." She still wasn't looking at him, still tracing that invisible pattern.

"And, I can call you," he said. "I seem to recall you sexed me up pretty good by phone a few times before I took my leave of absence and came to stay here."

Her shoulders shook for a moment as she giggled, but still didn't look at him. "I liked that," she admitted. "I like having the real you much better, but having you talk dirty to me via cell phone is a pretty nice second."

"It is for me, too," he said. "In fact, it's better than going out and scoring."

"You're just saying that," she said.

"No," he disagreed, putting his fork down. "Cinn, what would you say if I told you that I haven't had sex with anyone but you since the night I saw you at Raw, the night I found out about Neil?"

"I'd say I'm not sure if I believe you," she said.

"Well, maybe you should," he countered. "Because it's true."

She looked at him then, stopped tracing that pattern into the table. And he saw there were tears in her eyes. Not spilling, just sitting there, making her eyes glisten. And he saw the hint of red in her nose, that always started before she cried. It was one of her flaws, Cinnamon did not look pretty when she cried. He loved her in spite of it, and maybe, just a little bit _because_ of it. "Why?" she asked, and he knew she was studying his face, seeing if there were any signs that he was lying.

"I didn't know at first," he admitted. "I was kind of pissed off about it, too. I thought you were playing some head game with me, that you were deliberately telling me to go ahead and do it, figuring I wouldn't."

"I don't play games like that, Mox," she said.

"I know that. And I finally realized that if I was having a head trip about it, it was because _I_ put it there, not you. I felt like I was in some kind of struggle with myself, because you were telling me it was okay to fuck other women, so I should be fucking other women, but I wasn't sure I wanted to fuck other women and it kept going 'round and 'round, you know?"

"I think so," she said. "You thought it was a game I was playing, so you figured you should call my bluff and screw anything that moved or something like that?"

"Yeah," He nodded. "Something like that."

"But you didn't." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I-I tried," he admitted. "One night... met this girl in a club... she was hot. Not as hot as you, but pretty hot. And we were hitting it off, she suggested we go to her place and we went."

"And what happened?" Cinnamon's voice was quiet and Dean wasn't sure she wanted to know or not.

"We did some necking on her couch while having a couple drinks," Dean admitted. "She suggested we take it to the bedroom. I said sure, and then realized, nothing was happening."

"Huh?" Cinnamon tipped her head to one side, studying him.

Dean felt his face flush. "Nothing was happening... below the waist."

"Oh!" She nodded, understanding coming to her face. "Something wasn't coming to life."

"Yeah." He knew his face was still red. "And not only was nothing happening, but I just knew nothing would happen. That it just wasn't interested in her. Even though if I'd met her and this had happened the day before we connected, everything would have gone just great."

"So, what did you do?"

"I, uh, made an excuse," Dean said. "I think I told her I got a text that I had to get going. I don't remember. I do remember going back to the hotel and calling you."

"Err.. was that one of the nights where we played, 'what are you wearing?'"

He grinned. "No. You were a little pissed off at Neil that day. He had gotten in trouble in swim class. He dived off the shallow end I think and he almost got kicked out of classes. And you needed to vent about that."

"I wish I'd known," she said. "I would have had a little more sympathy for you."

He shook his head. "Nah, at first I was hoping you'd get off the subject of Neil and we could play some phone games, but then I realized that you _really_ needed to vent. And I realized I _really_ needed to listen. Because Neil is our son and even though he and I weren't getting along then, I still felt like his life affected mine. And, while no parent wants to hear that their kid was being a pain in the ass, I realized I enjoyed talking to you about it, because it made me feel like I was part of something bigger than me.

"Bigger than you?" she repeated, brow furrowed slightly.

"Yeah." He knew he was still a little embarrassed, this soul bearing wasn't something he did easily, but he also knew that he needed to explain this to her. "I've been a family of one all my life. I mean, I know I have the Reign's family now, but I still feel like I'm an outsider taken in. It would have been different if they had adopted me when I was younger, but because I'm an adult, I never feel quite a part of it. Nothing on their part, but it's like part of me will always feel like I'm the outsider allowed to be on the inside. But, here's the odd thing, until I became part of your life again, and part of Neil's, I didn't realize that I didn't quite feel like the Reigns were truly my family. I mean, Roman is my brother, 100%, that's a given. And thus, Jessica is my sister in law and Leah my niece, but again, that's my brother's family, not mine. Roman's parents, his brothers, all of that, they feel like extended family. But, when we were discussing Neil, I realized that for the first time, I felt like I was in a conversation about _my_ family. _My_ lady was talking to me about _my_ son. And _my_ opinion mattered."

Cinnamon nodded. "I think I know a little bit how you felt. When-when my parents died, you know I lived with an aunt and uncle that really weren't thrilled I was living with them. I always felt alone. And I felt... _adrift_. When you and I met and when things were working so well, that helped a lot. But then, well, things happened and we separated. But, Neil came along and I started realizing that something that was missing in my life was filling up again. I was part of a-a unit, a _family._ And when you came back into my life and especially since you've been staying here... well, it only reenforced it. I don't have an extended family. The guys at WVW are my extended family, but I have a nice immediate family, I have you, and I have Neil."

"But you don't," he said. "And neither do I."

"Huh?"

Her body visibly stiffened and he almost could see a wall of defense going up, but he continued, hoping he'd make himself clear. "Right now we share our son, but you've pretty much told me you don't care about what I do and who I do it with when I'm not around. That's not a family, Cinn. That's a Friends with Benefits situation. I've had that before. It's great, it's fantastic, but it's not what I want anymore. It's not what I want with the mother of my son, and it's not what I want with the woman I love."

She looked cautious, but he also saw a faint glitter in her eyes and that he thought might be hope. "What are you saying, Mox?"

"I'm saying that there was a reason why I went to Ohio today," he said, letting her know the destination. "I went to make good on a promise and to get you a Christmas present. But, I realized that I wasn't getting you a Christmas present, I was hoping-" he paused, gulping, "-I was hoping that instead I was making an investment on our future."

"Investment in our future?" She was biting on her lower lip, a gesture she used when she was nervous and unsure if something about to happen was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I got you this." He pulled the ring out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Before you say anything else, open it."

She took the box from him, staring at it, then opened it, hands trembling slightly. When she saw the ring inside, she gasped. "That's-thats-" She stopped, collecting herself and looking at him. "Did you have a copy made?"

He shook his head. "That _is_ the ring. The same one you hocked ten years ago to pay the vet. I had the name and address of the person who bought it."

"How did you get that?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the ring. She hadn't removed it from the box yet, she was just staring at it as if she expected it to vanish.

"The owner of the pawn shop gave it to me," he admitted. "I tried to get the ring back then, but, well, let's say it didn't work that well. That's why I bought you that other ring. But, I kept the name and address. I tucked it in my wallet and every time I switched wallets, I put in that name and address. I don't know why, I just did. I wasn't even aware I was doing it, I just did it. I think, deep down, I was hoping the day would come when I could fix a mistake."

"Mox, I-I never-" She stopped, unable to speak.

"I know, that's why I wanted to get it back for you."

"Oh god, I thought I'd never see it again," she said. "My Mom's engagement ring."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but I-well-it's _your_ ring. I give it back to you, but because I did buy it back, I want it to be more than just a Christmas gift."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at the inscription," he suggested.

She tugged on the ring, freeing it from the velvet box and turned it to look inside, then gasped:

_ALY-MOX_

Six letters. Three from her Dad to her Mom, but three more that turned the ring from just an heirloom from her side of the family, into something that looped him into it, that made the ring not just a relic of the past, but a promise of the future. While she stared at it, Dean found himself doing something that a few days ago he would have considered too corny for words.

He slid off the chair and down to the floor on his knees. Reaching out, he grabbed Cinnamon's chair by the legs and moved it so she was facing him. She was still holding the ring, but he took it from her. "Cinnamon Nolan," he said, realizing that for someone who did promos so easily, he was talking rather stiff. "You're already the mother of my son. Will you do me the honor of completing this family we've started and becoming my wife?"

The tears she had stopped earlier came back, spilling over her cheeks, but he knew now they were anything but tears of sadness. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come, so she just nodded, holding out her left hand.

He slid the ring on her finger. When he first realized that this was what getting the ring back was really leading up to, when he knew he would use it to propose to Cinnamon, he was sure that if she said yes, a million different feelings would go rushing through him, and a part of him would be concerned and worried. He was practically the stereotype of a playboy bachelor, the guy who could watch his friends getting married without ever wanting the same for himself. But, he realized that he never thought about being married before, not because he hated the idea, but because he didn't have the right person in his life. He did now, and he wasn't afraid, in fact, besides love for Cinnamon, the only feeling running through him now was a sense that his life had finally come around and set itself right.

The End

* * *

**Special Thanks to:**

**Nancy:**** Yep, he got the ring back. And if you've read this far, you got part of your wish (he proposed) I don't know if I'll do a wedding story, but since I'll never say never, I won't rule it out either. **

**Imma Reader:**** Sorry I didn't thank you in Chapter three, I think you were reviewing as I was posting part Three! And yes, it's okay to hate Florence. She was supposed to be someone you hated, or at least just felt sorry for her. I hope by this point most folks just feel sorry for her. She's a pathetic human being. Sure, she got five grand out of Dean, but it's not going to make her happy. **

**Also thank you to: ChelleLew, Labinnacslove, Nattiebroskette, DemonEyes44, HardcoreAmbroseGal89m and Psion53. Your reviews always mean so much to me. Thank you for supporting this story. **

**To anyone else who's been reading this? To those who reviewed at the beginning and lost interest, I'm sorry the story wasn't good enough to keep you interested. To those who haven't reviewed? I'm sorry the story isn't good enough to inspire you. But I appreciate that you read it anyway. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to write well enough to really inspire people, not only to start reading, but to continue to the end. **

**In the meantime, Blessings to all in whatever and however you celebrate this time of year. **

**Willow.**


End file.
